At the Mercy of Courage
by RedRoses130
Summary: Hermione is used to strange things happening to her, like being able to float or being able to scarf down an entire birthday cake on her own. But nothing is stranger than her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, the Wizarding school her scientist dad reluctantly lets her attend, which unveils a series of clues Hermione must use to solve a mystery spanning years into the future.
1. The Beginning, Table of Contents

_**THE FIRST CHAPTER OF HERMIONE'S LIFE INCLUDES:**_

A Corpse and Its Mother, A Baby in the Bushes, And A Crazy Old Scientist

Books and Naming Bracelets and Dissected Frogs

Owls, Hanging Trees and a Noose

* * *

_I'm nobody! Who are you?_

_Are you nobody, too?_

_Then there's a pair of us -don't tell! _

_They'd banish us, you know. _

_- _Emily Dickinson

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this one measly fanfiction, and maybe a few OCs.


	2. 1-1 : A Baby in the Bushes

**1.1: ****A Corpse and Its Mother, a Baby in the Bushes, And a Crazy Old Scientist **

* * *

Olivia Coulder-Viennere couldn't help but hate the rain as it savagely assaulted her from above.

She couldn't help but hate the flowers for drooping as she walked by, just as she couldn't help but hate that horrible Malcolm boy for writing that pitiful letter.

It wasn't her fault, really. She hated everything these days; she hated tea and birds and most days she hated her husband right along with his stupid stories and adventures.

Most importantly, she hated herself.

_ It's only right_, she convinced herself unsuccessfully. _It _is_, after all, your own fault… _

_ And that bloody Malcolm's_, nagged a voice inside her head.

Olivia shook her head, as though that would clear her mind. For a moment it worked, and she sighed in relief. She could do what she left her house to do. She could easily buy address without attracting trouble, she was certain of it.

So what her husband's teenage bastard had sent him a letter, begging him to attend his graduation ceremony? Olivia was certain the boy wasn't even valedictorian, like his letter claimed. It didn't even really matter anymore, not after she had ripped it up and thrown it into the fireplace. Benjamin hadn't received a letter from Malcolm for years. Olivia had made certain of that. Any traces of Malcolm – and Benjamin's previous four wives – were gone and buried.

_ Like your son_, snickered a voice in her head.

Olivia winced, shoving her mitten clad hands in the pockets of her winter jacket. She knew that voice well, as its nasal quality had been bothering her for weeks.

It had been approximately five months since she had buried her baby boy. The nurses had promised her everything would be alright, that there was a good chance the baby would come out healthy.

_ "You know the procedure, hon," _they had told her sympathetically._ "You know the odds." _

The only thing Olivia really knew for certain now was that she was an idiot. She had been a nurse herself before she had gotten married to Benjamin, before he had insisted she could quit and take up a hobby while he provided for her. She should have known that the odds of her baby coming out alive would be slim…

* * *

_The coffin was so very small, but too heavy for Olivia to pick up. _That's not right_, she thought. A mother should always be able to carry her baby. _

_It was a handsome coffin, a dark, smooth, soothing brown, a colour which would haunt Olivia for years to come, she was certain of it. Her baby's name,_ Casper_, was engraved in tiny letters on the lid of the coffin._

_Benjamin had chosen the colour, and the wood type and the burial spot. Right in the back yard, along with dozens of other Viennere skeletons. It was kind of funny, Olivia thought, how the Vienneres had everything. They had money, a mansion, a library and their very own cemetery. It was like something out of the Adams Family. _

_It was a clear day, and the birds took their time to peck at the ground, digging up worms. All Olivia could think about was how those same birds would, one day, dig up the worms that would nibble and munch on Casper, and the birds would fly all over the world with little bits of her son churning in their bellies. It made her want to vomit. _

* * *

She had tried to talk to Benjamin – talk, fight, shout, cry – it didn't matter how they spoke to each other, as long as they talked.

But Benjamin just kept on working, until his hair started to go grey and frown lines started forming between his brows. It made Olivia feel guilty, because despite the fact that he was already fifty-five years old, Benjamin had never looked a day over her thirty-two.

He had started spending more time away from home, even on his days off. Dinners were eaten in his study, and all baby clothes were banished to the Viennere's ancient attic.

That was how Olivia knew he was ready to be rid of her. They were the classic Benjamin signs of pre-divorce, which she knew because she had played a part of his last divorce to an Irish stage actress named Moira Wrinklevoss.

That was the only reason Olivia had left the house. Now that the last of the skin on their only child was peeling off, she felt that she needed to do something to keep Benjamin from kicking her to the curb and never letting her see her little skeleton boy again.

She would get her hair done, get a manicure and maybe a pedicure, buy a pretty new dress. Benjamin always said she looked best in green. She would buy a bottle of champagne, get Benjamin drunk enough to sleep with her and see how much he –

Her thinking process was interrupted by crying of some sort, but Olivia couldn't be sure she heard it correctly. She looked around, and saw that the entire street was empty save for Mr Braunter, a ninety-nine year old widow, who was currently watering his prize winning tulips.

Heck, if she hadn't heard it correctly, no way that Mr Braunter did.

Halting, Olivia listened intently.

After what seemed like forever, she heard it again.

It was weak, and it was faint, but it was _there_, somewhere from behind the bushes. At first Olivia wanted to keep on walking, least it be something like a rabid raccoon, but still Olivia listened. It was definitely a cry of some sort, maybe a wounded animal of some sort.

Gulping back her fears and her doubts, Olivia slowly started towards the bushes from where she heard the wailing. They were regularly trimmed, unlike the ones on the Viennere property, and little orange flowers sprouted prettily from random little holes in the hedge work. The whole street was kept clean, she realized. Each house was dotted with different types flowers and other decorations. The house next to Mr Braunter's, for instance, had a garden with neat rows of lilies lining the walls and pretty blue petunias resting in their beds.

Largely because of her, the grounds attached to the Viennere estate were so empty it was as though someone had salted the soil.

The crying continued, getting more insistent as Olivia drew closer. _How on earth could I have missed it, _she asked herself. _How could _anyone _have missed this?_

Olivia parted the bushes, wrinkling her nose at the stench. It smelled like a field after it had been covered in fresh manure. Looking down, she saw exactly why, and she couldn't help but curse.

* * *

"Oh, well fuck me!" She exclaimed. The thing – the _baby – _wailed even louder, as though reprimanding the woman for cursing. He or she, Olivia didn't quite know yet, was covered in his or her own waste, crying so insistently his or her face was entirely red.

_ RUN, _screamed the annoying voice inside Olivia's head. It was a rational idea, one which could save her a whole ton of trouble. How hard would it be to step away, act like nothing had happened, and continue to try to salvage her marriage? Groaning, Olivia held her breath and managed one more look at the infant.

He or she was puny, no older than a week at most. Its gums glistened in the dark, red and irritated. Looking closer, Olivia noticed a little white plastic scrap attached to the infant's wrist, covered in black ink. She tried to read what it said without having to reach down, but it was too dark.

Gingerly Olivia picked up the baby, gagging as the stale smell of urine and feces wafted up her nostrils. Now that she saw it in the light, Olivia realized the bracelet was an identification tag. She recognized the logo printed on the tag, although it was slightly different, simpler, than the one she was used to. It was issued by the same hospital where she used to work as a nurse, the _St. Belleraux Hospital_. She knew there was something wrong, something other than the baby in the bushes.

Upon birth, babies in the _St. Belleraux Hospital _could be identified by two identification bracelets: one tied to their wrists, and the other to their ankles. Where the tag should have been attached to the baby's ankle, there was only a red line where someone or something must have torn it off using considerable force.

Frowning, Olivia looked at the writing on the bracelet she still had. Maybe the child's parents had just lost her or something. The ink was faded, but Olivia could make out certain letters and piece them together.

_St. Belleraux Hospital _

_FEMALE _

_NAME: Hermione G~~~~~r_

_MOTHER'S NAME: Mag~~~ ~~~~~~~_

Nothing that would help her, then. Olivia looked back at the baby's face. A curtain of fuzzy brown hair framed her chubby little cheeks, and Olivia was sure she had never seen a baby with that much hair before.

_You could still put her back_, offered the voice helpfully. Olivia bit her lip. She wondered why the baby was in the bushes in the first place. But then, it probably wasn't that uncommon. The street here might be nice, but not far from here was Spinner's End, where poverty was excruciatingly common. Olivia sympathized with the baby; she knew what it felt like to be abandoned. Her father had left her and her mother, and shortly after her mother had been declared 'unfit'. As a result, Olivia had bounced from home to home until she was eighteen. Olivia made up her mind, ignoring whatever advice the devil in her decided to give her.

"Help!" She yelled. "HELP! Someone call an ambulance!" She kept yelling for help until the entire neighborhood had come out of their houses and the ambulance had arrived.

* * *

"Mrs Viennere, could we talk to your husband?" Asked the police officer. He was teasing and stretching a piece of gum between his teeth.

"My husband is at work," said Olivia reluctantly. "He was on a trip to the Amazon. He should come back tonight."

"If you want to adopt," said the police officer, "I'll need both your signatures."

Olivia sighed and looked at the police officer. Under the hospital lobby's harsh fluorescent lights, she could see every detail about him. He was young, and she suspected he was fresh out of school. He didn't even look as though he shaved regularly.

"Look, buddy," she said, rather impatiently, "I'm not asking to adopt. All I want to know is why her name isn't registered in the bloody system!"

The police officer shrugged, scratching the back of his head nervously. His teeth captured his lower lip where he sucked air through them hard enough to make a whistling sound. Olivia half expected him to be wearing braces.

"I don't know what to tell you, Ma'am," he admitted. "It seems there must be a mistake with the system…"

Olivia rolled her eyes as the officer trailed off uncomfortably.

"Okay, well never mind that then. How is the baby?"

"She's okay… I shouldn't say, but…"

"But what?" pressed Olivia.

"There was glass embedded in her hands, and little grains of sand in the wound," blurted the officer. "I was wondering if there was any sand used anywhere near where she was discovered. Would you know?"

"I wouldn't know," said Olivia sourly. "I don't pay much attention to that stuff."

The police officer faltered. Olivia would have felt bad, but at that moment one of the large double doors opened and Benjamin rushed in, panting. He was tanner than she remembered him, eyes more serious and there were more lines cracking his face. It made her sad to see he changed so much since she last saw him. Around two weeks ago he had abruptly packed his bags and announced that he'd be joining an expedition in the Amazon, though Olivia did not know for what, exactly.

"I came as soon as I could," he wheezed out. "Are you okay?"

Olivia felt tears sting her eyes. She was sure that, had her son survived, he'd look like a carbon copy of his father. Suddenly all of the events of the day really caught up with Olivia, and her lips trembled. Across from her, her husband made no move to comfort her. The young officer, whom she had almost forgotten was there, cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I was just asking about you, sir," he said with an awkward grin. "I was wondering if you two were planning to adopt the child."

"Child?" asked Benjamin confusedly. "What child? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Y-y-your wife," stuttered the officer, his grin faltering. "she found a child in the bushes."

"You're joking," Benjamin said disbelievingly. "You're pulling my tail. Ha-ha! What's next? A wizard?"

Olivia's temper spiked. How _dare _he? It was embarrassing enough to be the creep who was looking though the neighbor's bushes. She had already been asked by a senior officer if she was sure it wasn't her baby. That had just been rubbing salt on an open wound.

"Oh fuck off, Benjamin," she growled, much to the young officer's surprise. "He's only doing his job. Besides, it's not as though I wanted to find that baby."

Benjamin's eyes flashed. His face was weary but alert, and Olivia knew that the only way she'd ever win a battle of the wits was if he was extremely tired.

"Are you kidding me? I come home - "

"I think we've pretty much established that we're not kidding, Ben."

" – Would you just let me finish my goddamn sentence? I come home, tired as fuck, and I hear from Mr Braunter that my wife got carted away in an ambulance, only to find out that she's hunting down all the babies in the town!"

"Mr Viennere," tried the young officer, "you should calm down. Your wife is just trying to help."

"Don't you try to make me the bad guy! Christ, Olivia, loosing Casper was hard for me too!"

Olivia swallowed hard as she watched Benjamin kick the floor. Maybe she had been unfair to him, too. If he was a jerk, she was an even bigger one.

"I just thought maybe you would love me if we had a baby," whispered Olivia softly. The young officer didn't seem to have heard her, but she hardly cared if he did. All she cared about was Benjamin, and he seemed to have heard her words perfectly well. She closed her eyes as he started towards her, fearing he was going to strike her. She need not have worried, because before she knew it Benjamin had wrapped her in his arms, sobbing harder than she had ever seen a man sob.

When they broke apart, the young officer was gone. Benjamin dried off his eyes and they took the time to discuss what they were going to do.

"I can't raise any children, Olivia," said Benjamin tiredly. "I'm almost never here, and I'm getting so old my back creaks every time I sit down."

_How do you expect me to chase after children_, he seemed to be asking.

"I don't know, Ben," she said. She rested her head in her hands. She hadn't done this much in months, and it was really starting to take its toll on her. "All I do know is that I can help her… _we _can help her. We can't abandon her now – she is just a babe!"

"But she's not our child, Olivia," reasoned Benjamin. "That's the thing. Not our child, not our problem"

"If we think like that, how many others will?" Olivia didn't know why she was fighting her husband so hard on this. An hour ago, she didn't want anything to do with the child. But Olivia saw so much of herself in the baby that she couldn't help herself.

"That's not our problem," Benjamin insisted. He was wearing down, Olivia could see that. It wouldn't take too much to convince him.

"We can take her in, Ben. I know we can," begged Olivia. "Maybe it can even save our marriage!"

"What? Our marriage was never in trouble, Olivia," protested Benjamin.

Olivia gave him a look.

"Please. You've been going through your divorce routine, Ben. A baby can save us, I know it can!"

Benjamin shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Adoption is a long process," he argued weakly. Olivia smiled; if this was the only problem, it could be solved quickly.

"We're Vienneres, Ben. Just pay them off or something…"

Benjamin snorted, and soon he was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Frowning, Olivia looked at the spectacle her husband was making.

"You got a better idea?" She asked grumpily.

"No," admitted Benjamin. "But I think it's best if I don't go to the Amazon anymore. God knows what you'd bring me the next time.

He continued laughing, and this time Olivia heartily joined in. She'd done it. A little baby all to herself. Who needed a dress? Hermione was the best insurance for a healthy, long relationship.

Olivia was relieved. She didn't know what she'd do if her marriage fell apart, and raising a baby didn't seem all too hard.

It was just another thing on the checklist of life, after all.

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry, no real Hermione in this chapter yet. And I know what you're thinking… **

_**Christ, is she trying to make **_**another **_**Hermione fic?**_

**Well, yes. Yes I am. **

**And this time I'll succeed, as well. **

**Ha. **

**Haha. **

**Hahahahaha. **

**So ANYWAY, it's pretty much set that this will be a Hermione-x-Sirius story. I'm sorry to all those Hermione-x-James shippers, because originally I HAD wanted to make my other fic end with Hermione Potter. **

**Oh well. What ya gonna do, eh?**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's more of a prologue than anything else. I really wanted to make this fic darker than the other one, so it will also be more complex. Don't worry though, I've actually got this one planned out. **

**If you want to ask any questions, either leave a review or PM me. **

**ALSO, I'm looking for a beta, so if anyone knows someone whose willing… **

**Lots of Love, **

**RedRoses130**


	3. 1-2 : Dissected Frogs

**Quick foreword: Even though this chapter starts out with Olivia, towards the end we get Hermione. From now on it'll only be Hermione POV, so say goodbye to Olivia's inner thoughts (Yes, I think she's kind of a bitch, too, don't worry!)! **

* * *

_1.2 Books and Naming Bracelets and Dissected Frogs_

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen counter, holding a cooling cup of mint tea, a shivering Olivia Viennere contemplated her life up until that moment.

Raising Hermione was harder than Olivia expected. Despite the fact that Olivia had first laid eyes on her when she was a writhing pink and screaming bundle in some old lady's flower bushes, Hermione had grown into a quiet, studious child.

But that was not the problem. Oh no, it was much more severe than that.

When she was just aged six, Hermione could already read at a high school level. At school she did so well all the teachers, save for those who taught music and physical education, called her a wunderkind. It gained Hermione a lot of unwanted attention, especially when it concerned Boris Powell, a slight boy who took the greatest pleasure in tripping little bookish girls. Sadly, it didn't get any better for Hermione as she got older and she often came home with her tights ripped at the knees and the palms of her hand covered in scabs.

It was nothing like Olivia had expected.

What did she expect, you ask?

A pretty little girl who she could parade around on the streets.

An obedient little girl, who didn't stay so late past bedtime she had trouble waking up in the mornings.

A kind little girl, who wouldn't be able to outwit even the smartest adults by the age of five.

A normal little girl, who liked eating sweets and watching movies.

A girl who took after Olivia.

It wasn't as though Hermione was the ugliest of the neighborhood children. She was a lot prettier than Dorea McAllen, who favored her pug faced father above anything else. Still, she had seen Elizabeth Evans' youngest, Lily. A pretty little thing, maybe a month or so older than Hermione. _Her _hair didn't frizz before it rained, nor was it a mousy brown colour. _Her _teeth were in perfect proportion to the rest of her face.

Part of Olivia felt she was being too harsh. She found herself often wondering if it as it because she felt Casper would've turned out to be the superior child, but she couldn't quite be sure. She didn't dare talk to Benjamin about it, either. He would just shake his head and tell her '_I told you so' _before retreating back to his study.

Lately they conversed about nothing other than Hermione, which Olivia found ironic because Benjamin only sang praise for the little girl, whereas she felt sometimes she could strangle the girl.

Biting on the inside of her cheek, Olivia thought about the day she and Benjamin were allowed to take Hermione home. The baby had to stay in the hospital for several days, just to make sure everything was alright. After that there was still a mountain of paper work to complete, and Olivia had to sign a bunch of documents she, in all truth, did not have the patience to read over.

How long ago was that, she wondered. Using the counter to push herself off of the wooden stool she was currently perched on, Olivia shuffled to the calendar that hung on the kitchen door.

It was outdated, as she never got around to buying a new one. Besides, she thought the one she was looking at now was rather pretty. It depicted little ducklings following their mother. Benjamin had scoffed at that because, as he pointed out, no duck would lay eggs in November.

Counting the days on her hands, Olivia realized Hermione would be eleven in two weeks' time. Her heart thumped hollowly in her chest. _Eleven years_ had passed, and she and Benjamin still had to have a second real conversation since Casper died.

But Hermione kept them together, she knew that. She was the glue of the family, and Benjamin had taken a shine to the girl when Olivia just couldn't bring herself to. It wasn't hard to see; Hermione really was Benjamin's daughter. Even though, at sixty-five, Benjamin's hair was dark grey instead of its original colour, it had a tendency to frizz just like Hermione's did. They were both smart and, now that Olivia thought about it, they both had a large over bite which gave them a hamster-like appearance.

Benjamin and Hermione enjoyed each other's company so much that, right at that very moment, they were spending some quality time in Benjamin's study, doing God-knows-what.

_They're having their fun while you're_ _stuck doing the dishes_, came the snarky voice from her head. After all those years, that was one thing that hadn't changed.

Looking around the kitchen, which was now spotless and smelled of lemon, thanks to old family cleaning methods, Olivia felt the need to walk around. She couldn't go outside and visit Casper, because the grounds were frozen over and it was too cold. Instead of sitting back down like she usually would have done, Olivia wandered out of the kitchen and made for the attic. She had to go up several flights of stairs, as the kitchen was on the ground floor and the attic was the fourth and final level of the house. By the end she was panting with the effort. Though she was only forty-three, she wasn't the fittest person.

Opening the door that led to the attic, Olivia suppressed a shiver. The attic, the oldest surviving part of the house, was always so dark and mysterious that it seemed to be crackling with electricity. Though she usually tried to avoid it and the endless amount of Viennere relics stored inside, Olivia found herself stealing more moments away in the attic the last couple of months. After Casper had died, Benjamin had made her put all the baby clothes up here for storage, and now Olivia went up in the attic just to feel the tiny cotton and linen garments, though they were stiff with dust after all these years.

Sitting on the attic steps, Olivia let dark thoughts enter her mind. Casper would have been eleven years and four months old then. Though she might forget Hermione's birthday sometimes, she would not dare to forget that of her baby's. What kind of mother forgot her child's birthday?

Instantly Olivia felt guilty. She had not spent an ounce of energy planning Hermione's eleventh birthday, instead choosing to come up here and roll around in the dust and clothing belonging to the deceased.

She knew that the day she signed those adoption papers, she admitted Hermione into her family. Back then, it felt like a genius move to make. She'd not only save her marriage, but also get the child she was longing for. But now, every time Hermione called her 'Mum', Olivia felt her insides constrict with barely hidden contempt.

She was not Hermione's 'mum'. She was Casper's mum, and not even the fact that Casper was six feet under could ever change that. Hermione's Mum had abandoned her, left her in the bushes to die.

She had told Hermione that, once, exactly like Olivia often told herself when Hermione had made a mess of some sort. It was an accident, of course, after she had read the girl her bedtime story. Olivia thought the Hermione already asleep, because her eyes were closed and her breathing was much calmer than it was during the day. It had felt exhilarating to tell the truth, but the next morning, when Hermione couldn't meet her eyes without her own ones tearing up, that Olivia realized.

Hermione had been awake, and the girl was never quite able to look Olivia in the eye again.

Thinking back on that incident, Olivia felt even guiltier. Hermione had never tattled on her, and still came to her for hugs and cookies, although Olivia sometimes insisted on denying her both those things.

Sighing, Olivia picked herself up from the step she was sitting on to put back Casper's clothing. It reeked of mothballs and, though it wasn't a pleasant smell, it soothed her in a way nothing else could. She folded them neatly once more and smoothed out any wrinkles, though they were in such a state that the fabric just went back to its previously creased stiffness.

She put the clothes down on Benjamin's great-great-great grandmother's vanity table, which rattled and shook and felt so evil Olivia hesitated in putting her little angel's clothing on top of it. But she shook the feeling off, and searched the room until she spotted what she was looking for. A little cherry-wood box from China, covered in a thick layer of dust.

Blowing it clean and coughing as the dirt particles teased her nose, Olivia picked up the reddish coloured box and was vaguely reminded of _Pandora's Box_, her favorite myth. Breath hitching, she opened the box and saw Hermione's birth certificates, adoption papers and the identification tag.

The tag had stumped the hospital staff, because, though it was clearly their logo, it was still different. They did, however, think it looked better, more modern, even. Three years after the Vienneres had successfully adopted Hermione, the hospital changed their old logo to the one like it on Hermione's tag.

Because they could find no records of Hermione's birth anywhere, the date Olivia found Hermione became her birthday instead. It still confused Olivia how the hospital could mess up something as big as a child's birth, but the woman shook her head clear and closed the box, vowing to use it to make Hermione a positively memorable gift.

Olivia ran a hand through her hair tiredly, wondering how on earth she could make a nice present out of adoption papers and a ripped up hospital bracelet. She looked around the attic one last time, half expecting a mummy or something to pop out of a closet. Instead, all she saw that could be of any use was a fancy looking rope, which was probably used for the Viennere's horses before the stables burned down for the final time in 1840. Storing it in her mind for later, Olivia hastily got out of the attic.

She almost made it back to the kitchen when she heard a large BOOM from the second floor, where Benjamin's study and lab were located.

Cursing, Olivia ran to the source of the noise.

* * *

Hermione was in big trouble.

She didn't need to use her genius logic to figure _that _out.

In her defense, it really wasn't her fault. Accidents tend to happen, especially to Hermione.

Looking around her father's lab, Hermione wondered how she was going to explain this to her mother.

_Hey Mum,_ she imagined herself saying, _Sorry 'bout the mess, but Dad and I were dissecting these frogs and Dad opened a window to get the stench out and, well, this owl flew in and it scared me to pieces and – _

No. It was true, but not a believable explanation. Not one her mum would accept, anyway.

Hermione had blown things up before. It had been an accident each time, of course.

Except that time where Boris Powell started pelting her with his lunch meats. That was one time Hermione would proudly admit to having done it.

But not this time. Nope. This time it was a freak accident or something. Whoever heard of an owl flying into people's homes during the _day_?

She chanced a glance at her father, hoping he'd woken up already. No such luck.

How did she blow the frog up in the first place? Ever since her parents had discovered she had a knack for making kitchen appliances explode, they made a habit of hiding electronics from her. So, unless there was a micro bomb hidden in the frog's gut or something, the explosion was completely random and not at all her fault. Right?

Wrong. Hermione knew her mum would find some way of blaming it on her. She never liked her daughter much, Hermione had known that from a very young age. She wasn't an idiot. She could take a hint.

A very big hint had been when her mum had interrupted _Cinderella _to tell Hermione she was adopted. Not in so many words, exactly, but Hermione was good at jigsaws, and this was quite an easy one to figure out.

She didn't mind it much. Her mum mostly left her to her own devices and, when he wasn't working, it was her Dad who she really spent time with. Like now, when they were conducting a little experiment.

Only problem? Hermione was now covered in said experiment. Suddenly, Hermione was extremely glad how insistent her father was with lab safety rules. She didn't know how well she would handle pieces of frog landing in her eyes.

With no little amount of distaste, Hermione looked at the feathery ball lying where her frog should have been neatly cut in two. It was obviously an owl of some sort, although it was now either in shock or it was dead. Hermione would bet on the last.

There was something attached to the owl's limp leg, but Hermione didn't want to touch it to see even while wearing gloves.

Feeling a sudden surge of pity for the animal, Hermione poked it in the middle of its chest just to make sure it wasn't breathing.

Definitely dead, then.

Hermione frowned and carefully picked the animal up, gagging as the scent of decaying rodents wafted up her nostrils.

At that moment, Hermione's Mum burst through the door, looking ready to take a down a burglar. Her expression seemed to read, 'Y_ou want a piece of my priceless mahogany furniture? Come and get it, buddy! Just you try!' _

Hermione knew that look, and she dreaded each and every moment it could possibly be pointed at her.

"What the fuck did you do this time!" Hermione's Mum demanded. "And what the fuck are you _holding?_"

Hermione seriously doubted that her mum would be willing to put a pound in the Swear Jar. Hermione's mum caught sight of her unconscious husband, and let out a shriek so loud a dog barked a response somewhere in the distance.

"He's fine, I think," squeaked Hermione.

Her mum turned to her, eyes blazing and berating finger in the air.

"Now listen here, you little shit," she growled. "How did you even manage to do it? There aren't any microwaves this time!"

"It was the owl," exclaimed Hermione desperately, waving the animal carcass in the air. Once again, her mum let out a deafening shriek.

"Why are you _touching _it! It could have rabies or worms or some other disease!"

Hermione highly doubted it, but she stopped waving the owl around. She was in enough trouble as it was, and she had a feeling that angering her mum wouldn't win her any brownie points.

As though he had heard his wife cursing at his daughter, Hermione's Dad stirred and tried speaking, though his words came out slurred.

"What is he saying?" Her Mum asked, eyes narrowed.

"Something about an owl?" Tried Hermione.

"You're lying," snorted Mum.

"I'm not!" protested Hermione.

It didn't occur to either one to call an ambulance. Instead they continued arguing until Hermione's Dad had fully woken up.

"Would you two just stop your bloody bickering?" He roared accusingly.

It worked like magic. A thick silence engulfed the room, tense but fragile.

"Now tell me what happened," he grunted. It was obvious that he expected Hermione to answer, but her mother answered for her.

"She blew something up again," she snapped.

Hermione started to protest again, but her father beat her to it.

"I asked _Hermione_," he ground out, and she quieted down immediately. He may not look like much, but Hermione's dad could scare the living daylights out of someone if he wanted to.

"The frog blew up," she said lamely. Her father sighed, and his nostrils flared.

"Well what are you holding in your hand?" He asked calmly.

"A dead owl," admitted Hermione. "But I just wanted to see what's attached to its leg, I swear!"

Hermione's mum scoffed, as though she was certain Hermione was planning to take over the world with the animal carcass. Her father frowned and motioned Hermione to give the owl to him. She walked over to him, who reached to take the owl from her in his sitting position. He poked the leg and raised an eyebrow when the thing attached to the leg shook right along with it.

"It's a letter," he said unbelieving. He took the letter from the owl's leg and opened it, tossing the animal's carcass off to the side.

"Well," Asked her mother, interest piqued. "Whose it from?"

It took a few more minutes for her father to decipher the ink from the frog's blood, which had probably soaked through the envelope by now. From what Hermione could see, it was written in green ink.

"It's from a school," he said, brows furrowed. "From some school named Hogwarts…"

* * *

**AND THAT'S WHERE CHAPTER 1.2 ENDS! **

***Conducts orchestra to play dramatic music* **

**Again, the way I set up this story is that you guys can predict or help me with what is going to happen. Of course, the chapter's table of contents can always be edited, but I'd like it if it stays as I planned.**

**Also a special thanks to: **

bma925

Mylla-chan

ilovepotato (I'm sorry you don't like this story as much as the other :c)

BrightestWitchOfHerAge

**For reviewing! ****I will be open to answering any questions for anyone who is confused.**

**I hope you guys liked the chapter! **

**Happy reading, **

**RedRoses130**


	4. 1-3 : Hanging Trees

**I hope you enjoy! Not quite happy with it, still... **

* * *

**1.3: ****Owls, Hanging Trees and a Noose**

* * *

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. The letter, still covered in frog guts, sat on the coffee table in the living room. Hermione's mum refused to let it enter the dining room, as it had started reeking of blood and soggy paper. In the future, it would be something they looked back on with fondness, but at that time, they were still too shell shocked at the day's course to do anything but stare at their spaghetti.

At first, they had all laughed at what the letter described. Witchcraft? Cauldrons? Familiars?

Ha!

It wasn't until a someone came knocking at their door, just after Hermione had taken her bath and her parents had cleaned the place up, that they were willing to believe at least part of the story.

Hermione's father had been very surprised to come face to face with a large man, a little taller than himself, clad in robes which were not quite purple but not quite red. On his head was a pointed hat, which was so worn it almost fell to pieces in the wind. His face, which was neither handsome nor particularly horrid, was weathered and wrinkled to the point of distraction.

"Golly," exclaimed the man, sniffing the air. "Why, sir, I do declare that you are covered in frog guts!"

By this time the whole family had gathered round the door, and they were all thoroughly confused as to how the man was such an expert at classifying frog guts.

"It used to happen quite a lot at Hogwarts," he explained, as though he had read their minds. "Frogs are quite frail, see, and even one little tickling charm can cause them to explode. It's why we only take toads now. Much sturdier."

Hermione's father narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you, exactly?" he asked irritably. Though the letter had given him a good laugh, he was still covered in pieces of frog and his skin started to itch. Next to him, his wife, who only had the stuff coating her hands, fidgeted next to him, nervous.

"Right," said the man. He hit himself on the back of his head, seemingly reprimanding himself. "Where are my manners? I am a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and -"

Hermione's father cut him off.

"Bullocks. Witchcraft doesn't exist."

"Of course it does," said the man. "Why ever would you say something like that?"

"Prove it."

"Oh, I see," said the man understandably. "You didn't get the letter, I suppose? How very strange, it was delivered by my very own owl – my favorite one, in fact. Had to lend it out because so many new students…"

The man looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

"Where _is _that animal?" He looked to Hermione's parents, who shifted uncomfortably. "Have you seen him? He has black feathers, with little white markings, and he's quite tame, really, though a bit skittish…"

Hermione thought it best to interrupt his ramblings.

"He's in the trash, sir," she said, as though reciting a text. "He flew into my father's study at the most inopportune time, and we had a little _accident _of sorts."

There was complete and utter silence for five seconds, countless feelings flashing past the man's face, finally settling on a mixture between anger and grief.

"_In the TRASH?" _he all but yelled. "Why, I _never – _the audacity of you people! I have never, _never_, met such people as you! First the frog, then my poor Puffy!"

"Sir," said Hermione's father firmly, "we're going to have to ask you to leave, or we'll call the police on you. I'm a very important scientist, you know, and I am not willing to accept anything without proof -"

"PROOF," roared the man, "you want PROOF! I'LL SHOW YOU PROOF!"

He took out a long piece of wood, which intrigued Hermione very much but made her father laugh. He was about to say something, something which Hermione was fairly certain was not going to be nice, when a blast of water hit him in the face. Drenched, he looked at the man bewildered.

The man, red with fury, was still pointing his wand at Hermione's dad, muttering under his breath and waving his stick in the air. Flustered, he waved it one last time, but nothing came out.

"Give me my owl," he demanded. Hermione's dad scrambled to the front lawn, where he had deposited the animal's carcass so it wouldn't smell up the house. Once he returned, he practically threw it at the man, who continued to glare at him.

"You can just post your bloody acceptance letter your own way, because you won't be getting another one of my owls," he practically growled.

And that was how the Viennere family started believing in magic.

* * *

Clothing pin on her nose to block out the smell, Hermione looked the letter over. It was written in green ink, and they did not use paper but rather a rough feeling type of parchment. It was two pages long, and seemed to include a list of some of the most outrageous things Hermione had ever heard of. It read:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _

_(Order if Merlin, First Class, Grand Src, Chg. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

_Dear Hermione Viennere, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall _

_Deputy Headmistress _

To get to the next page, Hermione had to turn the page. Though she was curious, some part of her dreaded what she would read on the page.

_UNIFORM: _

_First-year students will require: _

_Three sets of plain work robes (black) _

_One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear _

_One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) _

_One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) _

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags. _

_COURSE BOOKS _

_All students should have a copy of each of the following: _

_ The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _

_By Miranda Goshawk _

_ A History of Magic _

_By Bathilda Bagshot _

_ Magical Theory _

_By Adalbert Waffling _

_ A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration _

_By Emeric Switch _

_ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _

_By Phyllida Spore _

_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _

_By Newton Scamander _

_ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _

_By Quentin Trimble _

_OTHER EQUIPMENT _

_1 Wand_

_Pewter, standard size 2 _

_1 Set glass or crystal phials _

_1 Telescope _

_1 set of Brass scales _

_Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus _

Hermione reread it several times, tracing the words and smelling the parchment. She knew the basics of how parchment was made, because her school had organized a trip to a small medieval museum which sold cheap souvenirs and advertised special summer camps for people who liked to dress up in costumes. Oddly enough, she liked the smell. It reminded her of knowledge and that made her feel safe. This parchment was nothing like the parchment from the museum, which had one solitary piece protected by three inch thick bullet-proof glass. Sure, this was not a sixteenth century piece of history, but somehow it felt more appealing.

The list itself she found unsatisfying. There weren't enough books on it for her liking, and she wondered that, if Hogwarts _was _real, if it had a nice library. If it did, she wouldn't mind packing her bags right there, despite the fact that she didn't have a clue where she could find the majority of the things on the list.

Hermione packing her bags was, sadly enough, also the reason why her parents were fighting. Her mother did not even want to explore the idea of Hermione leaving, whereas her father, ever the opportunist, saw this as a way to explore a new world.

Hermione was still looking at the letter, inspecting it fold by fold, when her mother came into the room.

"You're not going, you know," she told her daughter. Hermione didn't even look up when her mother addressed her, hoping that if she ignored her the woman would go away. Unfortunately, she had no such luck. "You can't go. Not yet. Not before we're ready."

Hermione's mum was so adamant on it; Hermione almost found herself believing it.

"What do you mean?" She asks. "If Dad agrees it's real, then I'm going."

Her mother's eyes narrowed to slits, and she sucked her cheeks in so much Hermione was sure the insides would be touching each other.

"No," Her mother says again. "You're here to help our marriage. If you leave, so will him."

"I'm sure he wouldn't, mum," said Hermione, somewhat sympathetically.

"Oh, but he would!" cried out her mother. "You don't know him like I do. You don't see the way he looks at me, you foolish girl!"

"I'm sure nothing _I _could do that would save that train wreck," Hermione sassed back.

Hermione's arm was promptly seized by her mother, who held it with bruising force. Her breath smelled faintly of wine, something Hermione knew her mum liked to drink when she got in a row with her dad.

"Let go of me," cried Hermione, struggling against her mother's iron hold. Neither of them was very strong, but anger had given them ten times the strength they thought they possessed.

"If anything happens," whispered Hermione's mother, her acidic breath on her cheek, "it's _your _fault. Remember that."

This was a new insult. Her mother had been getting steadily aggressive against her, and she had said things way worse, but for some reason this hurt her the most. Out of all the things she had been accused of, no one had ever put such a weight on the young girl's shoulder as her mother had done that very moment.

It terrified her, but then she wondered, _what can go wrong_?

It gave her courage, and enough of it to stand up to her tyrannical mother.

"Well what're you going to do?" she asked defiantly. "The only reason you two are still together is because of me. And if I leave, at least I'll have done something with my life, unlike you!"

Eyes flashing, Hermione felt her head snapping to her side, and the tingling on her cheek told her that her mother had struck her. Eyes filling up with angry and shameful tears, Hermione shoved her mother out of the way and ran up to her room, slamming the door behind her and running to her bed.

She did not even take off her clothes before pulling the cover over her head, the sound of her own sobs lulling her to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione woke with a headache. It felt as though someone had put stones in a blender and then set it off in her head. This happened after crying sometimes. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and, when she landed on the floor, she stayed there for a while, just looking at the dust bunnies under her bed.

After about ten minutes of shameless drooling on the expensive and intricate hard wood floor, Hermione finally hoisted herself up. With all her groans and grunts, she felt much like Mr Braunter, the old neighbor who used to babysit her. He used to grunt like that anytime he got up from his arm chair, until he finally just died in it.

Hermione pulled random clothes on, choosing to wear her warmest jumper. It had a reindeer on it and, though it would not be December for another three weeks, it always brought a smile to her face.

She walked down to the main floor in her woolly padded socks, careful not to slip. If she was lucky, her father would already be awake and baking Lazy Man's Omelets, which were basically just omelets with everything in the kitchen cabinets. They were named Lazy Man's Omelets because you didn't have to go to the store for them, and Hermione had seen her father make a couple of strange ones over the years. Her favorite was when he put biscuits and bacon together, which was incredibly unhealthy but also incredibly delicious.

When she finally made it to the kitchen, however, it wasn't her father she was met with. It was her mother, drinking her tea like she did every morning.

Hermione's mum looked worse for wear, her face gaunt and pale, and it surprised Hermione how much a person could age overnight. She was fidgety, sniffing the air much like a wild animal would. When Hermione entered the door, their eyes met and her mother's eyes seemed so hopeful, so pleading that Hermione had to look away. Her mother promptly deflated again, and kept on sipping her tea.

It was quite awkward, the both of them sitting together at the kitchen table. Hermione tapping her fingers against her thigh while her mother drank her mint tea, both waiting for the only man in the house.

When Hermione's father came in, he ignored her mother completely and made a straight beeline towards his daughter.

"Come on," he said with a grin.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"To get some breakfast," he replied. Hermione's mother made to grab something, perhaps her bag, when he cut her off. "Just the two of us, of course."

Hermione's mother sat back down, looking at her tea passively.

"Go on," said her father, "Put your coat on. They think it's going to snow later today."

Hermione did as she was told, going to the clothes rack in near the entrance hall. She took her time with her zipper, hoping she wouldn't have to go back to the kitchen to get her father.

She was contemplating going outside to wait for him there, when her mother ran past her and headed off somewhere to one of the upper levels of the house. Not two minutes later, her father emerged from the kitchen, looking hassled. He had a large imprint of a hand on his shoulder, and Hermione realized her mother had probably run off because she had hit her father.

"Come on, you little ducky," he said in an overly enthusiastic voice. "Have you ever had coffee? No, I didn't think so. Today, then. To celebrate you going off to a new school."

They stayed out until the sun set, laughing and discussing what magic would be like. Her father had assured her that, if she did not like it, she could always leave Hogwarts after her first year. When they arrived back at the Viennere mansion, the front door was unlocked and it was eerily silent.

The lack of the usual hustle and bustle of the house made shivers go up Hermione's arms.

"Olivia," her father called out. There was no reply, only darkness and silence. Her father looked just as uncomfortably as she felt. "Maybe she's with Casper… she's been visiting him often lately."

Hermione went to look for her mother while her father went to turn on all the lights and check all the windows. She thought about looking in the attic, but no one in their right mind would go near that place in the dark.

So she walked out the back door, shivering at the bitingly cold air. She knew the way to Casper's grave, but she had only gone twice over the course of her life. Her brother's final resting place was under an old, very big, oak tree, and it was marked by a light grey plaque.

But what she saw was not a simple head stone. What she saw was her mother's body, swaying in the wind admits the flacking branches of the old oaks.

Horrified, Hermione screamed for help.

* * *

**So hi guys! I'm not really happy how this chapter turned out, so I'll probably end up revising it and rewriting it. **

**I did like the ending, though. **

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, but I really wanted to get it out for you guys to read. **

**Again, if anyone knows someone who'd like to beta my story, just review or PM! **

**Special thanks to: **

_SakuraFlutist_

_Ilovepotato_ (I'm happy the story has started to grow on you 3)

_Memmememr_ (I hope I got that right. I know, right? I always thought, personally, Hermione would secretly be a bit of a humorous little person underneath her bookworm exterior. Especially in this time, she's a lot more prone to do things to protect herself and sort of play on her own side of things.)

_Bma925_ (yeah, poor owl. You're not the only one who thinks that, ahahaha!)

_Tsukiyo Tenshi_ (I think she did that to herself already, ehehe. But you're still welcome to do it, if you want :])

_WhenTheWorldEnded_

**for reviewing, and everyone else for reading! **

**Lots of love for my lovelies, I say! **

**Happy reading, **

**RedRoses130 **


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